How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You

By Tami Franklin

1. Get an A in Chemistry. Check.
2. Get accepted into MIT. Check.
3. Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love with Me.

17-year-old Oliver Holmes loves lists. He has a step-by-step procedure for everything. His classmates think he's weird, and he's okay with that because he's got his eye on the prize: Ainsley Bishop.

She's smart. She's gorgeous. She's the girl of his dreams. But she's unavailable and way out of his league.

Her approaching birthday gives Oliver a prime opportunity to demonstrate everything he has to offer. But what do you get a girl who seems to have everything?

If Oliver wants to win her heart, he's going to need a perfect plan. But first, he must solve a mystery: What does Ainsley Bishop truly want?

And does he have what it takes to give it to her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Calava Press
• Release date: Mar 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393521471

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How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love with You

Tami Franklin

First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2014

Copyright © T.M. Franklin, 2014

2nd Edition Copyright © T.M. Franklin, 2017

The right of T.M. Franklin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover images by: Depositphotos.com

© natulrich

© Balefire9

© nikkytok

© ikonstudios

© redicka

© AndreyCherkasov

Cover design by T.M. Franklin.

Visit the author's website at www.TMFranklin.com

Contents

The List Notebook

1. Join the Drama Club

2. Do Your Research

3. Provide Something She Needs

4. Make Her Feel Secure and Important

5. Pay Attention!

6. Be a Good Friend

7. Be More Attractive

8. Be Complimentary, but not Obsequious

9. Establish Rapport

10. Be Encouraging and Supportive

11. Give Her Space

12. Admit When You're Wrong

13. Find the Perfect Birthday Gift

14. Tell Her How You Feel

Also by Tami Franklin

Acknowledgments

About the Author

The List Notebook

Watch it, freak!

I tensed and looked up at the familiar taunt, but for once it wasn’t aimed at me. Still, out of reflex, my eyes darted around the crowded gymnasium, my stomach curling tightly when I saw my best friend, Viney, stumble and straighten below on the gymnasium floor, obviously recovering from a push. He glared at the back of the jock walking away from him—Nathan McCallister, big surprise—and flipped him off before climbing the bleachers two steps at a time to slump down on the bench below me.

Hey, Oliver, Viney said.

Hey. I watched him carefully. Viney liked to pretend everything was fine, even when it wasn’t. You okay?

He shrugged and shook the wispy, blond hair out of his eyes as he turned to observe the four rather haphazard games of volleyball underway. I set aside my homework and opened my laptop, dodging the school’s firewall so I could access Craigslist.

What are you doing? Viney asked, twisting his head back to get a look at the screen. The personals? Scoping out a hot date? He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

Nah. I thought maybe Nathan McCallister might be lonely for a little company. I clicked a few keys. How’s this sound? ‘High School Hottie Seeks Sugar Mama.’

Viney snorted and scooted up to get a better view of the screen. Where’d you get that picture?

Swim team yearbook pic, I said with a sideways glance. Online security at this school is sadly lacking.

Viney chuckled. He’s going to kill you.

I clicked Post and shut my laptop. I’m wounded you doubt me. I do know how to cover my tracks, Vine. It’s Craigslist, not the NSA.

He held up both hands. My mistake. So how’d you get out of PE today, anyway?

I pulled my trig homework back onto my lap to finish up the last few problems. Ulcer.

You don’t have an ulcer.

I might. I’m under a tremendous amount of pressure. Best not to risk it. I scribbled a few lines, then frowned and erased them to make it a bit more legible.

He let out a loud yawn and slipped down onto the step between seats, resting his elbows next to me, his feet dangling over the edge of the bench below him. It wasn’t unusual for Viney to come hang out in the gym sixth period. He was supposed to be the TA for Mr. Larson, the shop teacher, but it turned out there wasn’t a lot of TAing to do for a shop teacher. Especially when said shop teacher spent most of the time sleeping through his classes.

You really sure you want to do this? Viney asked after a while.

This. I knew what he was talking about, and it was a question I’d asked myself repeatedly. Still, Viney needed assurance, so I swallowed my own nerves. Of course I’m sure. And you’re going to do it with me.

I don’t understand why you’re dragging me into it, he said, a whiny edge to his voice.

Because you need extracurriculars as much as I do, I mumbled, not looking up from a particularly intricate problem. I erased a negative and made it a positive, then changed it back again. Viney was distracting me. You know grades and SAT scores aren’t enough for MIT.

I’m not going to MIT.

I continued as if my best friend hadn’t said something absolutely ridiculous and untrue. And I need you there. I need the moral support.

Viney huffed but said nothing more, and I knew he’d be there for me. He always was.

It’ll be fine. I closed my trig book and stuffed it into my backpack. It’ll be easy.

It’ll be boring, he muttered.

Like you have so many other interesting alternatives.

Dude. Viney shifted around to glare at me. Call of Duty, BioShock, Halo. He ticked the list off on his fingers.

There’s more to life than Xbox, Viney.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes wide and appalled. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.

It was ridiculous, of course. Viney knew me better than anyone. Still, I hummed in acknowledgement, pulled out my List Notebook and flipped to the To Do list at the front. With a little twinge of satisfaction, I checked off Trig Homework with a red Sharpie, the cap clenched in my teeth. The best part of having a list, after all, was checking something off it. I took a moment to admire the neat, red check mark before I capped the pen and turned to the College & Career section.

Oh no, not the List, Viney muttered, head rolling back as he closed his eyes.

"Number four on How to Get into MIT, I said as I rotated the book so he could see it and then pointed with the capped Sharpie. ‘Enroll in no fewer than three extracurricular activities.’ Audio-Visual Club and Gamer’s Club are fine, but we need something creative to round out our portfolio."

But the drama club? It’s so . . . so . . .

It’s perfect, I said, leaning forward as I warmed to the topic. I’d thought this through. Viney knew it. He just needed a little convincing. I already talked to Ms. Sherman, and she’s so grateful we’re taking on sound and lights she’s sure to write us both great college recommendations.

He shot me a pointed look, and it was only due to my vast experience with Viney seeing right through me that I was able to keep from squirming. Mostly.

You and I both know this has nothing to do with college, he said.

Of course it does. I looked away, my face heating as I fumbled with the notebook.

Uh-huh. He nodded slowly. "And the fact that Ainsley Bishop is in the drama club has absolutely no bearing on you choosing this particular extracurricular activity?"

I cursed under my breath. Sometimes it was a pain to have a friend who knew me so well. It’s simply a, uh, fringe benefit.

Viney opened his mouth, undoubtedly to tease me mercilessly, but was interrupted by the PE teacher’s booming voice.

Palmari! Mr. Hanson called up at us from the floor. Don’t you have somewhere to be?

Viney got to his feet with a mock salute. Yes, sir. He turned to me with a halfhearted glare. Guess I’ll see you after school. And I don’t think I have to tell you that you owe me big for this one.

As if on cue, a muffled curse from the gym floor drew our attention. Nathan McCallister was staring at his phone, his eyes wide with shock.

I think we’re even, I mumbled under my breath.

Viney blinked in confusion, his focus still on Nathan, then a slow smile of understanding lit his face. That was quick.

Nathan thumbed at his phone again, and I grinned. Looks like there are a lot of over-forty women interested in, quote, ‘treating him like the naughty boy he is.’

Viney slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Nathan, still staring at his phone, let out a horrified gasp.

I might have suggested they include a picture, I whispered.

Palmari? Don’t make me say it again! Mr. Hanson shouted up the bleachers, before turning to Nathan. McCallister, put that thing away or it’s mine. Nathan fumbled to turn off his phone and slid it into his duffle bag. I had to say he looked a little green around the gills. I almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

Okay, Viney said with a resigned sigh. You win. See you after school.

Don’t be late.

Viney clambered down the bleacher steps as Mr. Hanson turned and raised an eyebrow at me. And Holmes, unless you have a doctor’s note, I expect to see you suited up and ready to go tomorrow, ulcer or no.

I nodded and watched Viney leave before I flipped through the Notebook to the Personal section. I glanced around briefly to ensure I was unobserved before turning the pages and finally settling on the newest list. It was long—eleven items—and meticulously detailed as my lists always were, but I was determined to check off each and every box before the year was through.

It would work. It had to. The lists always did.

I couldn’t keep from smiling as I uncapped the red Sharpie, checked off number one, Join the Drama Club, and then drew a large red box around the title at the top of the page.

How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With Me

1. Join the Drama Club

Show interest in her interests. You want her to know these are things you can share and enjoy together. Note: Don’t stare at her like a creeper.

Now, I should set the record straight. I knew it was a lofty goal. Ainsley Bishop was the picture of perfection: beautiful, kind, intelligent, funny. It’s not like I was putting her on a pedestal, either. She wasn’t really perfect. I knew that. Nobody was, after all. But she had a lot of wonderful qualities that overshadowed any potential flaws.

At the same time, I knew I had things to offer Ainsley. Good things. Unique things. Our talks, when we did talk, were friendly and rife with possibility. Sure, she had yet to recognize that, but I had faith.

It’s not that I thought I was some great catch, or anything. Nor was I delusional enough to believe that smart, tall, skinny, and a little bit awkward, with a dash of shaggy hair and a mouthful of braces was anywhere close to the recipe for popularity in a suburban Seattle high school.

I had a list for that. Actually, I had lists for just about everything, from How to Make the Perfect Cup of Hot Chocolate to The Elements of the Perfect First Kiss.

Not that I’d had a use for that one yet. But like I said, I had faith.

I knew what people said about me. Geek. Freak. Nerd. The words stung, sure. It wasn’t like I didn’t have feelings, after all. But I also knew what so many of my classmates couldn’t seem to wrap their minds around. High school was four years of torture before life truly began. I understood that college was where I would one day shine, where I would find myself, and high school was simply a stepping stone to get me where I wanted to go.

MIT. The Land of Opportunity.

So I ignored the insults as much as I could and kept mostly to myself, with the exception of Viney, of course. I kept my head down and my eyes on the prize.

Except . . .

Except when it came to Ainsley Bishop. When it came to Ainsley, all my carefully constructed walls came tumbling right down in a rush of pounding heartbeats and teenage hormones. Although I recognized it for what it was, I was helpless to resist.

So, as I stood outside the doors to the school auditorium, knowing she was just on the other side, I gave in to that side of myself—the hapless, hormonal, teenage boy—and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

I could do this.

I took a deep breath and yanked open the door, wincing at the loud creak that echoed down the hallway. The auditorium was dimly lit, most of the club gathered on the stage at the front. I spotted Ainsley immediately where she sat on the edge of the stage, long, jean-clad legs swinging idly, her dark hair gleaming red under the stage lights. My stomach churned, as it often did when I was in Ainsley’s presence, so I swallowed nervously and made my way to the sound booth in the back of the auditorium where Ms. Sherman was already talking with Viney. He stood with his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his army jacket, and when he spotted me, his expression of disinterest twisted into a distinct save me look.

There you are, Oliver, Ms. Sherman said, milky-blue eyes peering over her cat-eye glasses. I was just going over the light board with Viney, here. He said you’re already familiar with it?

Yes. My voice cracked, a frequent occurrence, and I cleared my throat. Yes. The Solara 5678-X. A little outdated, but more than sufficient for our needs. I’d spent the past few days on various forums, researching all of the drama department’s sound and lighting equipment. Thoroughness was always important, in my opinion.

Ms. Sherman blinked slowly. Yes, well. I’m glad you approve. She rubbed her hands together. There won’t be much to do while we’re blocking, so you’ll have plenty of time to figure it all out. Feel free to try new things, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. She smiled at us both before heading down the aisle to the stage.

Viney shrugged out of his jacket and collapsed into a chair, propping his feet up on the edge of the booth. So what’s the plan?

Plan?

Viney gave me a disbelieving look. "You always have a plan."

He was right. And Viney had always played a part.

Born Vincenzo Palmari, he’d earned the nickname in third grade when, on a dare, he’d eaten three packages of Red Vines in less than fifteen minutes. He’d kept it down long enough to collect his prize—an impressive stack of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards—before he staggered off to throw up the whole mess in the bushes next to the playground. He’d never touched the candy again, but the name stuck, and Viney didn’t seem to mind. And since I was the only one who stayed with him through the experience, bringing him a bottle of water to wash out his mouth and backing up his story to the nurse that he was most likely coming down with the flu—and that his red-stained lips were due to a special all-natural cough syrup that his mother made utilizing pomegranate juice and a special blend of herbs she grew in the kitchen window.